when I get in a funk, I tend to want to talk it out. Usually with friends, sometimes through a blog. I think the idea of embracing the crappiness in the moment is much more appealing than always reading about how someone's come through on the other side... There's some form of relationship and solace found in confessions, struggles... And while I believe that 100%, I almost always wuss out : )
But not tonight. This is nothing life altering or crazy or anything - so don't get your hopes up - but here's what I'm struggling with.
* I've gained 14lbs since May or June. About 8 in the last month. I loved the movie experience, but I was so anxious, that I drank and ate my way through it. I'm still a 12, but I'm a tight 12. The tightness reminds me of what a failure I am. I am embarrassed to go out. I think I am an embarrassment to others because of my weight gain. When I'm out somewhere and someone comments on how much skinnier I am, I immediately fire back with "I've gained 10lbs".
* I've been trying to whiten my teeth for about a month now. It's a combination of laziness and my tongue/throat reaction that has only led me to be 1/2 way there. And I'm not sure I can tell the difference.
* Someone is BLARING the Cupid Shuffle outside my house at the moment. I honestly just think that it's hilarious.
* I've been ridiculously excited about something for a long time. We're going on a real grown-up vacation. But today I've really been struggling with being depressed. It all circles back to the whole philsophy that I don't believe that I deserve anything good... and that I definitely don't deserve to enjoy myself because of how overweight I am. Vicious circle.
* I just applied press on toenails and fingernails. Yep.
* I have been dreading October since August. 10/10 my life was filled with chaos, death, dread, hatred, anger and anxiety. I hate the person I was then. I can't forgive myself for who I was, mainly because I wonder if part of her's still in me. And partly because I don't believe people have forgiven me. Nor do I believe they should.
* I ate 2 Little Debbie Pumpkin Cakes while I typed this blog.
* My dog is currently laying on my clean laundry blowing out diarhea farts.
* I'm in the process of re-examining my faith and the Bible. I wish I had paid more attention in Bible college.
* Okay, Cash's gas is just getting disgusting now.
* I think I want to learn Greek and/or Hebrew. I think.
* I'm going to be off the grid for awhile. Please don't take it personal : )
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
grateful
Isaac makes movies. I make friends with folks who have "disabilities". I prefer it this way.
I signed up for a week to be a production assistant on the film. I think I ended up on set everyday : ) Partly because it was the only way I could see my husband : ) but mainly because I fell in love with the people around me. It was hard, stressful and incredibly enjoyable work. I'm deeply saddened that some of my favorite people are leaving town. It's very humbling to be surrounded by such an array of talented individuals. Folks who are beautiful on the inside and out. I doubt most of them can see their own self worth, but I feel like I can.
I can honestly say that it was an honor to serve under the leadership of my friend and director, Brad Wise and Joe Boyd, who I have without permission, lovingly adopted as my big brother. And of course, Isaac. It's taken us six movies, but we've finally begun to figure out how to work together : ) I am so, so, so grateful for his love and support and guidance over the last month and a half. For allowing me to serve with him to an extent. To be a part of his dream. That is an amazing gift to be given.
I have a few pictures of the set, but most are stored in my heart. I planned on taking a ton at the wrap party and celebrating and saying last good-byes, etc, but I came down with a rather large anxiety attack instead. BOO. So I ended up stealing the director's baby and sitting outside of the Harbor Point Dewey's holding the most precious 14lbs of infant ever created. I told him how much his mommy and daddy loved him and how they had waited so long to have him. How they probably cried when they found out Leah was pregnant. And how they love him more than anything else in this world. Henry just cooed and looked at me with deep satisfaction, as if to say he already knew.
I also spent a chunk of time with a very close friend, discussing life and love and what to do about all of it. I have been very blessed in the friendship department, even when I have not done anything to deserve them or have pushed them away. I am very, very, very blessed. I have forgiving and loving friends.
And then I just spent the rest of the quiet evening at home with Isaac. And I loved every last second of it.
I signed up for a week to be a production assistant on the film. I think I ended up on set everyday : ) Partly because it was the only way I could see my husband : ) but mainly because I fell in love with the people around me. It was hard, stressful and incredibly enjoyable work. I'm deeply saddened that some of my favorite people are leaving town. It's very humbling to be surrounded by such an array of talented individuals. Folks who are beautiful on the inside and out. I doubt most of them can see their own self worth, but I feel like I can.
I can honestly say that it was an honor to serve under the leadership of my friend and director, Brad Wise and Joe Boyd, who I have without permission, lovingly adopted as my big brother. And of course, Isaac. It's taken us six movies, but we've finally begun to figure out how to work together : ) I am so, so, so grateful for his love and support and guidance over the last month and a half. For allowing me to serve with him to an extent. To be a part of his dream. That is an amazing gift to be given.
I have a few pictures of the set, but most are stored in my heart. I planned on taking a ton at the wrap party and celebrating and saying last good-byes, etc, but I came down with a rather large anxiety attack instead. BOO. So I ended up stealing the director's baby and sitting outside of the Harbor Point Dewey's holding the most precious 14lbs of infant ever created. I told him how much his mommy and daddy loved him and how they had waited so long to have him. How they probably cried when they found out Leah was pregnant. And how they love him more than anything else in this world. Henry just cooed and looked at me with deep satisfaction, as if to say he already knew.
I also spent a chunk of time with a very close friend, discussing life and love and what to do about all of it. I have been very blessed in the friendship department, even when I have not done anything to deserve them or have pushed them away. I am very, very, very blessed. I have forgiving and loving friends.
And then I just spent the rest of the quiet evening at home with Isaac. And I loved every last second of it.
Monday, August 8, 2011
What A Feeling!
Okay. So I promised myself that I wasn't going to write any more blogs until at least September. I have a fairly difficult time remaining focused to begin with, and right now, I sorta feel pulled in a few directions. But today needs to be shared.
The morning started off well at work. Routine is really big in the house, and some days I don't mind it. Meds, breakfast, bath, wash hair in the sink, start laundry, shave. I feel it is my civic duty to periodically trim back the mass of ear hair and bushy eyebrows that endow this particular person. (I mean, who wouldn't want that taken care of? Have a heart, people) Everything was going well with the brows unless he sorta rocked forward into the razor. Well shit. I got nervous after that, and so eventually we were both gently rocking back and forth while I was trying to lighten the load. The area above his eyes now somewhat resonates the pipes on an old church organ. They're all there, but not necessarily all the same height. Luckily, he wears a hat and keeps his head down most of the time, so I think it'll be okay. But gracious, did I feel like a jerk.
Today also happened to be the big day - the annual visit to the obgyn. I stayed with the same practice, but this afternoon's visit would be at a new location, with a new doc. Needless to say, I was anxious. It's just...so....invasive. What a terrible way to meet people! As I waited to meet the new guy in the room, the same familiar trail of thoughts raced through my brain.... "Did I remember to put my phone on silent? I don't want any surprise noises... I have to make sure I pee before he starts working on me. I wish I wasn't so nervous, I hate getting gas. Oh God, why did I eat so much granola today?!?!?!?! (side note: I always have these visions of the doctor pushing too hard and me farting in his face. It is a very real fear. And one that I so do not want played out) I wonder if OBGYN's are really just perves with a degree. If they were hugged too much as a child.... If my stuff is good enough. If being forgotten at the OBGYN's office would scar me more than being left at a funeral home (I decided, most definitely, btw. Side note: This happened to a very close friend of mine) I think about a story I heard once where the nurse told the patient to "crawl on up there" and she did. She was apparently on all fours on the table when her doctor walked in.
The plethora of thoughts were broken as the new doctor opened the door to the room. His Tigger-like enthusiasm took me aback for a moment. That brief second was almost immediately replaced with the decision that he probably pounces onto his wife. We chatted a bit, and then I excused myself to the restroom to squeeze out as much urine and gas as possible. Always uncertain and anxious about when the doctor would come back in, I made a mad dash back into the room and began undressing as if I had A Minute To Win It.
When I used to go for my yearly, I'd always get pretty dressed up - a skirt, makeup, hair, good shoes.... But as I've lost some weight and gained a greater sense of self, I decided that today I was purposely going without makeup (I must admit, some days I rather enjoy or at least appreciate looking in a mirror and not wanting to throw up) and that I was NOT going to hide my underwear. (See, there's this thing with women and hiding our unmentionables while the doc checks out our twats) But as I shimmied out of my jean skirt like a jackrabbit on a date, I just couldn't stand the sight of my underoos, just laying there. So I hid them. And then I hid my bra too.
About three minutes later, the doc came back in, just chatting away. I had planned this great idea about asking him if he wanted to be an investor in a movie I'm working on, but alas, I just couldn't bring myself to do it..... So, never without words, I decided that asking him exactly what he could see was a better option. Dumb idea. I decided in that moment, that every parent should take their daughter to her first visit when she's 12. The feeling and words used will suck the sexiness right out of ya. And if it wasn't illegal and just plain wrong, I'd say that the sons should go to. Trust me, they will never want to hit that. Ever. There, I just solved the nation's teen pregnancy crisis. BAM!
After I got dressed, regained my composure and began driving away, the song Flashdance came on the radio. I genuinely got excited about this, as it seemed to somehow fit the mood (okay Jen, you just made it through your yearly. What a feeling! I can really have it all! I can conquer the world!). Roughly three minutes later, the song ended and I was saddened. Then I flipped to another station and guess what song was on?!?!?! FLASHDANCE! I really, really can have it all!
The morning started off well at work. Routine is really big in the house, and some days I don't mind it. Meds, breakfast, bath, wash hair in the sink, start laundry, shave. I feel it is my civic duty to periodically trim back the mass of ear hair and bushy eyebrows that endow this particular person. (I mean, who wouldn't want that taken care of? Have a heart, people) Everything was going well with the brows unless he sorta rocked forward into the razor. Well shit. I got nervous after that, and so eventually we were both gently rocking back and forth while I was trying to lighten the load. The area above his eyes now somewhat resonates the pipes on an old church organ. They're all there, but not necessarily all the same height. Luckily, he wears a hat and keeps his head down most of the time, so I think it'll be okay. But gracious, did I feel like a jerk.
Today also happened to be the big day - the annual visit to the obgyn. I stayed with the same practice, but this afternoon's visit would be at a new location, with a new doc. Needless to say, I was anxious. It's just...so....invasive. What a terrible way to meet people! As I waited to meet the new guy in the room, the same familiar trail of thoughts raced through my brain.... "Did I remember to put my phone on silent? I don't want any surprise noises... I have to make sure I pee before he starts working on me. I wish I wasn't so nervous, I hate getting gas. Oh God, why did I eat so much granola today?!?!?!?! (side note: I always have these visions of the doctor pushing too hard and me farting in his face. It is a very real fear. And one that I so do not want played out) I wonder if OBGYN's are really just perves with a degree. If they were hugged too much as a child.... If my stuff is good enough. If being forgotten at the OBGYN's office would scar me more than being left at a funeral home (I decided, most definitely, btw. Side note: This happened to a very close friend of mine) I think about a story I heard once where the nurse told the patient to "crawl on up there" and she did. She was apparently on all fours on the table when her doctor walked in.
The plethora of thoughts were broken as the new doctor opened the door to the room. His Tigger-like enthusiasm took me aback for a moment. That brief second was almost immediately replaced with the decision that he probably pounces onto his wife. We chatted a bit, and then I excused myself to the restroom to squeeze out as much urine and gas as possible. Always uncertain and anxious about when the doctor would come back in, I made a mad dash back into the room and began undressing as if I had A Minute To Win It.
When I used to go for my yearly, I'd always get pretty dressed up - a skirt, makeup, hair, good shoes.... But as I've lost some weight and gained a greater sense of self, I decided that today I was purposely going without makeup (I must admit, some days I rather enjoy or at least appreciate looking in a mirror and not wanting to throw up) and that I was NOT going to hide my underwear. (See, there's this thing with women and hiding our unmentionables while the doc checks out our twats) But as I shimmied out of my jean skirt like a jackrabbit on a date, I just couldn't stand the sight of my underoos, just laying there. So I hid them. And then I hid my bra too.
About three minutes later, the doc came back in, just chatting away. I had planned this great idea about asking him if he wanted to be an investor in a movie I'm working on, but alas, I just couldn't bring myself to do it..... So, never without words, I decided that asking him exactly what he could see was a better option. Dumb idea. I decided in that moment, that every parent should take their daughter to her first visit when she's 12. The feeling and words used will suck the sexiness right out of ya. And if it wasn't illegal and just plain wrong, I'd say that the sons should go to. Trust me, they will never want to hit that. Ever. There, I just solved the nation's teen pregnancy crisis. BAM!
After I got dressed, regained my composure and began driving away, the song Flashdance came on the radio. I genuinely got excited about this, as it seemed to somehow fit the mood (okay Jen, you just made it through your yearly. What a feeling! I can really have it all! I can conquer the world!). Roughly three minutes later, the song ended and I was saddened. Then I flipped to another station and guess what song was on?!?!?! FLASHDANCE! I really, really can have it all!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Other "L" Word
Okay, well, actually, it's probably the other, other "L" word.
Leadership.
Ugh. The word gets me all creepy crawly and makes me wanna puke up my snack size Rolo McFlurry.
Until recently, I think I would have defined myself as a leader. (not even in all circumstances, but I would have definitely believed it was there). I probably do have some natural leadership giftings, however, I think most of that probably comes from being the oldest child and my super strong desire to "fix everything" (if only stemming from my anxiety disorder). But there's a real difference between being able to lead with maturity and simply calling yourself a leader.
It's often said that in order to be a good leader, you must first be a great follower. I finally realized that I neither. That's a shithole of a place to find oneself.
I'm kinda to a place now where I'm redefining everything that's important to me. Redefining my faith, my relationships, myself. That would have scared me to death a few years back, but I'm almost relaxed being on this journey. There is something definitely freeing about seeing yourself in a different light, figuring out who you really are... I don't think I care (or at least hope) so much about the whole "where do I fit in?" anymore (side note: is that not all we learn to obsess about from kindergarten thru college?) as I do the, "who am I? and why do I believe what I believe". I am somewhat comfortable saying I am Jenny, not I am Jenny because of X,Y and Z.
Of course on the flip side of all of that, because I no longer define myself by certain traits or characteristics, I've also gotten into the habit of saying that I am definitely NOT certain things. I get all weird and clammy when people even talk about leadership around me (they're not even talking about me - that's how self-focused I am. boo). I know that when I go to church tonight, they'll probably run a promo for the Global Leadership Summit and talk about how it's great for everyone, everyone should come, etc..., to which it typically makes me want to reply with a f*** you! (I am fully bearing my complete and utter lack of concern for others and my extreme self-centeredness here) Honestly, I think a lot of it is simply because I can look back with such ease and recall hundreds of times when I was a terrible leader. And I hate being reminded of those times... Of that person... In my journey of self-discovery, I also kinda just dropped out of lots of things. I wonder if I quit volunteering in part, so I didn't have to be reminded of how terribly I led some of them.
Every once in a while, I'll muse with the idea that if I got better, more complete, figured out who and what I believed and was following, that I could sorta lead on a small scale and succeed. Admitting that just now, makes me feel all dirty, and not in the good way... But dang it, it's my blog. And I doubt most of you will read this. And few will understand. And I'm okay with that.
Maybe certain things make me incredibly uncomfortable partly because they're ugly truths, and partly because I'm a giant scardycat. Who knows. It's all been jumbling around in my brain for a long time now....
Leadership.
Ugh. The word gets me all creepy crawly and makes me wanna puke up my snack size Rolo McFlurry.
Until recently, I think I would have defined myself as a leader. (not even in all circumstances, but I would have definitely believed it was there). I probably do have some natural leadership giftings, however, I think most of that probably comes from being the oldest child and my super strong desire to "fix everything" (if only stemming from my anxiety disorder). But there's a real difference between being able to lead with maturity and simply calling yourself a leader.
It's often said that in order to be a good leader, you must first be a great follower. I finally realized that I neither. That's a shithole of a place to find oneself.
I'm kinda to a place now where I'm redefining everything that's important to me. Redefining my faith, my relationships, myself. That would have scared me to death a few years back, but I'm almost relaxed being on this journey. There is something definitely freeing about seeing yourself in a different light, figuring out who you really are... I don't think I care (or at least hope) so much about the whole "where do I fit in?" anymore (side note: is that not all we learn to obsess about from kindergarten thru college?) as I do the, "who am I? and why do I believe what I believe". I am somewhat comfortable saying I am Jenny, not I am Jenny because of X,Y and Z.
Of course on the flip side of all of that, because I no longer define myself by certain traits or characteristics, I've also gotten into the habit of saying that I am definitely NOT certain things. I get all weird and clammy when people even talk about leadership around me (they're not even talking about me - that's how self-focused I am. boo). I know that when I go to church tonight, they'll probably run a promo for the Global Leadership Summit and talk about how it's great for everyone, everyone should come, etc..., to which it typically makes me want to reply with a f*** you! (I am fully bearing my complete and utter lack of concern for others and my extreme self-centeredness here) Honestly, I think a lot of it is simply because I can look back with such ease and recall hundreds of times when I was a terrible leader. And I hate being reminded of those times... Of that person... In my journey of self-discovery, I also kinda just dropped out of lots of things. I wonder if I quit volunteering in part, so I didn't have to be reminded of how terribly I led some of them.
Every once in a while, I'll muse with the idea that if I got better, more complete, figured out who and what I believed and was following, that I could sorta lead on a small scale and succeed. Admitting that just now, makes me feel all dirty, and not in the good way... But dang it, it's my blog. And I doubt most of you will read this. And few will understand. And I'm okay with that.
Maybe certain things make me incredibly uncomfortable partly because they're ugly truths, and partly because I'm a giant scardycat. Who knows. It's all been jumbling around in my brain for a long time now....
Friday, June 3, 2011
Why Doesn't Anyone Else Look Like Me? (so boobs are weird)
I'm torn.
I look around at ads for Victoria Secret and Lane Bryant and Dove and I don't see anybody who looks like me. Where is their 12 inch scar from a surgery when they were 3? The scar that divides their already large midsection into 2 extra fat rolls and squishes their bellybutton down so tight, it looks like it's constantly winking at you. Where are their varicose veins that make it hard to tell where a bruise begins and a vein ends? Why don't they have monkey paws for feet? (Seriously, nobodies size 11 feet should have as many knuckles as I do. And it wouldn't be so bad, except that even my toes look ashamed of how they turned out) Why don't they scar easily? Where are their red birthmarks on their neck, their mishaped eyes lids and crooked smile? Why don't they have a widow's peak and a duck tail?
When these models lay down at night, do their boobs sorta just sag off to each side, as if to say that even they are tired from the day? Do they worry that if somebody walked by while they were waving, their arm fat just might reach out and smack 'em?
I'm torn because I know that not everybody is gonna look like a Victoria Secret model. Not everybody is born with incredible features and spends close to an hour in makeup, so they can achieve the perfect "smoldering eye" look. Not everybody has bright lights and spray tans and fans around when they put on their underwear in the morning. But not everybody is going to look like a plus size model either, which begins at a size 10, btw. It seems fairly easy put down the "skinny model" or the "fat model", depending on which way you view yourself. It's easy to make jokes about how the Victoria Secret model must not eat in order to look that way. It's just as easy to praise the Dove models for looking like "real women". But where do we blur the lines between health and beauty? Is it really okay to promote in a sense, being overweight because that's what real women look like and we should just love ourselves the way we are? Or is it better to push being a size 2 or 4 as what women should look like, or promote the way a woman should look like if you only wear a certain bra?
I can tell you the exact moment in 7th grade when I decided that I was fat. Looking back, I probably wasn't, but because I believed that I was huge, I ate my way to it. (and even this I am torn about - at my largest I was an 18/20 and there are lots of women who might wear larger clothing that I would never ever consider to be "huge". It's simply the way that I thought of myself) It's not like I had a ton of muscle or something. It was mainly just good 'ol fashioned fat : )
I went to a job training in Texas a few years back and during a discussion about marriage and weight gain, one of my peers said that if he ever got married and his wife was a size 12 or more, he would divorce her. Now granted, the guy was a total douche bag, and I knew this even then, however, that was five years ago and when I think about being 'excited' about my 55 lb weight loss and feeling good about myself, I remember that douche bag and realize that I would still be kicked to the curb. I was in a relationship once where the guy I was with liked to respond to my question of "Would you still love me if I gained more weight?" with "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to". Even my gynecologist has a special way of telling me that I'm too fat to have kids. (Disclaimer, this is a soapbox moment: I don't open that portal for just anybody, jackass. The least you can do is say, "Shew, that's the best one I've seen all day" or "Woo wee, clean as a whistle!" before you question my workout and eating habits.) Right before I got married, I ordered a couple of Victoria Secret lingerie items that looked amazing on the online models. I was sooooo excited to try them on when they arrived in the mail, until, of course, I saw myself. My boobs and fat rolls were smashed between an array of elastic lace doilies. I looked like a dolphin caught in a tuna net. It was really, really baaaaaaaaaad.
There's nothing glamorous about being unhealthy and increasing your chances of heart disease, diabetes and a slew of other things. And there's nothing respectful in weighing yourself 10x a day and vomiting so you can look like the other girls. When is it okay to just be "okay" with what you weigh? I'm 5'7 and a 1/2 and a size 12 now, which on my good days seems like a victory compared to where I was. I'm healthier now than I probably ever have been, but in my mind, I still look the same. So sometimes I still eat like I'm a 16. I'm still the fattest one in my small group. I still care about this for some reason. When I was an 18/20, I'd dream of the day when I could be a 10. Now that I'm somewhat close to that, it's changed to an 8. But I know myself well enough to know that even if I was a 8, I'd never be satisfied. I wouldn't be able to change my face or my hands, I'd still be an "apple" body shape, which WebMD says is the worst.A friend recently asked me what would I have to weigh in order to be satisfied, and my answer was everything. I would literally have to lose every ounce of my body weight in order to be satisfied. Of course, the irony is that I'd be dead, because even my bones weigh something.
I'm trying to be healthier on the inside and the outside, but it is a battle most days. I feel like I'm stuck in a carnival mirror room, and I'm not sure which reflection to trust.
I look around at ads for Victoria Secret and Lane Bryant and Dove and I don't see anybody who looks like me. Where is their 12 inch scar from a surgery when they were 3? The scar that divides their already large midsection into 2 extra fat rolls and squishes their bellybutton down so tight, it looks like it's constantly winking at you. Where are their varicose veins that make it hard to tell where a bruise begins and a vein ends? Why don't they have monkey paws for feet? (Seriously, nobodies size 11 feet should have as many knuckles as I do. And it wouldn't be so bad, except that even my toes look ashamed of how they turned out) Why don't they scar easily? Where are their red birthmarks on their neck, their mishaped eyes lids and crooked smile? Why don't they have a widow's peak and a duck tail?
When these models lay down at night, do their boobs sorta just sag off to each side, as if to say that even they are tired from the day? Do they worry that if somebody walked by while they were waving, their arm fat just might reach out and smack 'em?
I'm torn because I know that not everybody is gonna look like a Victoria Secret model. Not everybody is born with incredible features and spends close to an hour in makeup, so they can achieve the perfect "smoldering eye" look. Not everybody has bright lights and spray tans and fans around when they put on their underwear in the morning. But not everybody is going to look like a plus size model either, which begins at a size 10, btw. It seems fairly easy put down the "skinny model" or the "fat model", depending on which way you view yourself. It's easy to make jokes about how the Victoria Secret model must not eat in order to look that way. It's just as easy to praise the Dove models for looking like "real women". But where do we blur the lines between health and beauty? Is it really okay to promote in a sense, being overweight because that's what real women look like and we should just love ourselves the way we are? Or is it better to push being a size 2 or 4 as what women should look like, or promote the way a woman should look like if you only wear a certain bra?
I can tell you the exact moment in 7th grade when I decided that I was fat. Looking back, I probably wasn't, but because I believed that I was huge, I ate my way to it. (and even this I am torn about - at my largest I was an 18/20 and there are lots of women who might wear larger clothing that I would never ever consider to be "huge". It's simply the way that I thought of myself) It's not like I had a ton of muscle or something. It was mainly just good 'ol fashioned fat : )
I went to a job training in Texas a few years back and during a discussion about marriage and weight gain, one of my peers said that if he ever got married and his wife was a size 12 or more, he would divorce her. Now granted, the guy was a total douche bag, and I knew this even then, however, that was five years ago and when I think about being 'excited' about my 55 lb weight loss and feeling good about myself, I remember that douche bag and realize that I would still be kicked to the curb. I was in a relationship once where the guy I was with liked to respond to my question of "Would you still love me if I gained more weight?" with "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to". Even my gynecologist has a special way of telling me that I'm too fat to have kids. (Disclaimer, this is a soapbox moment: I don't open that portal for just anybody, jackass. The least you can do is say, "Shew, that's the best one I've seen all day" or "Woo wee, clean as a whistle!" before you question my workout and eating habits.) Right before I got married, I ordered a couple of Victoria Secret lingerie items that looked amazing on the online models. I was sooooo excited to try them on when they arrived in the mail, until, of course, I saw myself. My boobs and fat rolls were smashed between an array of elastic lace doilies. I looked like a dolphin caught in a tuna net. It was really, really baaaaaaaaaad.
There's nothing glamorous about being unhealthy and increasing your chances of heart disease, diabetes and a slew of other things. And there's nothing respectful in weighing yourself 10x a day and vomiting so you can look like the other girls. When is it okay to just be "okay" with what you weigh? I'm 5'7 and a 1/2 and a size 12 now, which on my good days seems like a victory compared to where I was. I'm healthier now than I probably ever have been, but in my mind, I still look the same. So sometimes I still eat like I'm a 16. I'm still the fattest one in my small group. I still care about this for some reason. When I was an 18/20, I'd dream of the day when I could be a 10. Now that I'm somewhat close to that, it's changed to an 8. But I know myself well enough to know that even if I was a 8, I'd never be satisfied. I wouldn't be able to change my face or my hands, I'd still be an "apple" body shape, which WebMD says is the worst.A friend recently asked me what would I have to weigh in order to be satisfied, and my answer was everything. I would literally have to lose every ounce of my body weight in order to be satisfied. Of course, the irony is that I'd be dead, because even my bones weigh something.
I'm trying to be healthier on the inside and the outside, but it is a battle most days. I feel like I'm stuck in a carnival mirror room, and I'm not sure which reflection to trust.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Facebook Ads Crack Me Up
Just don't watch The Exorcist before going to your class.
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We show you the hot new way celebrities are quitting smoking these days. You won't believe how easy and enjoyable it is!
We all know the only smoking you'll be doing is in Hell.
Bring Addicts To Christ christianonlineeducation.com. Become a Christian Substance Abuse Counselor and help bring addicts to salvation. Request info here.
This honestly disturbs me. If you're so cheap that you have to crack open an eggshell because you don't want to buy a baby carrier, well then, I just don't know.
31yo Moms: Free Baby Bag! pennypinchrr.com
31 year old Moms: Get a 100% Free bag, formula and free baby bottle cooler. Email required. Limit one offer per household. Act now!
Who doesn't love flute playing mice? At least, I think that's a flute...
Discover Funny Sites www.stumbleupon.com
Discover the funniest sites on the web with StumbleUpon.
Eye for Photography?
Yes, THIS is how you spot an addict. They don't ever smile, they look like a zombie, and worst of all, they have dreads in their hair and ridiculous bangs. If only we could reach every person with bad hair for Jesus.
Help Addicts Find God christianonlineeducation.com
Become a Christian Substance Abuse Counselor; help people overcome addictions and heal. Request info here.
What type of nurse are we talking about here? Once again, Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low.
Become a Nurse in 2011 colleges.classes2careers.com
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A) I don't think this is a real baby.
B) You shouldn't have to go to school to learn that.
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I have no words.
Be a Social Worker 1YR
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Be a Social Worker in 1YR.
Learn about the Become a Social Worker™ program, where you may receive education grants to cover your preparation. Request info here.
Honestly. This was the best example you could come up with???
How Celebrities Quit mindpowernews.com.
We show you the hot new way celebrities are quitting smoking these days. You won't believe how easy and enjoyable it is!
We all know the only smoking you'll be doing is in Hell.
This honestly disturbs me. If you're so cheap that you have to crack open an eggshell because you don't want to buy a baby carrier, well then, I just don't know.
31yo Moms: Free Baby Bag! pennypinchrr.com
31 year old Moms: Get a 100% Free bag, formula and free baby bottle cooler. Email required. Limit one offer per household. Act now!
Who doesn't love flute playing mice? At least, I think that's a flute...
Discover Funny Sites www.stumbleupon.com
Discover the funniest sites on the web with StumbleUpon.
A) I have never seen this building in Cincinnati.
B) Even if I had, I would never PAY to step foot in it, even if it was 1/2 off the normal admission fee.
100 Things in Cincinnati
In general, 'bypass surgery' seems like such an oxymoronic statement to me. And for some reason, this picture just makes me think that it's dancing to Flo Rida. Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low.
GastricBypass Effect $480 mini-gastric-bypass-me
Gastric Bypass NO surgery only $480 - forcing small stomach and only 50% food intake for immediate weight loss!
Hmmmm.
Eye for Photography?
Put your talent to work as a photographer! We match you to top Photography programs and schools. Financial Aid. Flexible Schedules.
Yes, THIS is how you spot an addict. They don't ever smile, they look like a zombie, and worst of all, they have dreads in their hair and ridiculous bangs. If only we could reach every person with bad hair for Jesus.
Help Addicts Find God christianonlineeducation.com
Become a Christian Substance Abuse Counselor; help people overcome addictions and heal. Request info here.
What type of nurse are we talking about here? Once again, Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low.
Become a Nurse in 2011 colleges.classes2careers.com
Prepare for your future now with a new education. 100+ schools to choose from. Request info today!
A) I don't think this is a real baby.
B) You shouldn't have to go to school to learn that.
Be a SocialWorker in 1YR†
Learn about the Become a Social Worker™ program, where you may finish your degree in as little as 1YR. Request info here..
I have no words.
Be a Social Worker 1YR
Earn your degree to be a Social Worker. Grant funding may be available. Search schools now!.
Monday, April 25, 2011
wonderments and amusements part 2
I tend to not brush my teeth before I run in the morning. I figure if someone is going to try and attack me, they'll have to get through my breath first.
Depression hurts. Cymbalta doesn't do jack shit.
I don't actually know this from personal experience, but I'm still willing to make it into a t-shirt.
I accidently burned my forearm trying to change the settings on my lawnmower. Then very early this morning, I accidently ripped the blister/all skin off of it. ARGH!!!! I would not suggest doing this.
I have found through personal experience, that if I have to fart, the motion of sitting down on the toliet sucks it all back up. This is frustrating. What is even more frustrating, is that as soon as I stand back up and button my pants, the urge is back and intense. Thus, I am forced to fart in my pants and then fan them out. Wwwwhhhhhhaaaa? Fan them out, you say? Um, yeah. Who knows what could happen after I walk out the bathroom door? An old lady may drop dead in front of me and I would be forced to go to drastic life saving measures, only in my effort to kneel and start pumping her heart back into motion my waistband may crease and poof, there goes my stored fart. With my butt up in the air and a thick fog lumming, I can't quite blame it on the dead lady when the paramedics arrive, now can I?
You know how in the Bible when Jesus would raise folks from the dead and he's always tell someone to get them food immediately afterwards? I kinda wonder if it was because they really were hungry or if it was just because it seemed like a tangible thing to do instead of everybody just staring at the person or asking them a million questions.
I wonder if Jesus had a fat brain. I wonder if he liked ketchup. If he preferred dark chocolate over milk choclate. If he even liked fish, or whether he just ate it because that's all he had. If every morning, manna fell from the sky for him for breakfast. I wonder if we're even concerned about food in heaven. If there is food, I'm assuming since it's heaven, there will be no food allergies, which means that I can chow down again on shellfish. And we can all drink and not get tipsy. And if we run out, we'll just find some water and change it. And all of my Baptist friends will pass out from the shock and my Catholic friends will say, "I told you so."
If He is supposed to forget our sins as far as the East is from the West, then why do people talk about being judged after we die? Because then where does the whole, "welcome, good and faithful servant" come into play? After someone we don't care for does something ignorant, do we say, "well, they'll be judged for that later" and if someone we like does something we think is grand, do we say things like, "Jesus won't forget this. You're written in his book. Some people have even served angels and not known it." Is it really that Jesus won't forget all of the bad and good things that humans have done, or is it more about the fact that we won't?
I'm much more at peace and happy than I used to be. It's not that my problems are solved, but I feel like I'm making progress to some tiny degree. And I really do believe that there is freedom in sharing your pain to a degree.
In the past 3 or 4 years, I've really begun to realize and identify safe people in my life. And I'm to the point now, where I'm okay saying that some people just aren't safe. It's not that they've evil (although at times, it may feel that way), but they're not a person who will help you along in life. Someone who constantly brings you down and/or hurts you, whether physical or emotional or financial, isn't someone to be trusted. Yes, there is forgiveness, and yes, we are supposed to love our enemies, but I don't think loving them neccesarily equals having constant contact with them. They may need time to grow, just as you may need time to heal.
Some things just belong together:
Armpits and deodrant
Joe and Deb
Bourbon and Dt Coke
Okay, I have to go pee and then give my dog a bath. Tell me you're jealous.
ta ta
Depression hurts. Cymbalta doesn't do jack shit.
I don't actually know this from personal experience, but I'm still willing to make it into a t-shirt.
I accidently burned my forearm trying to change the settings on my lawnmower. Then very early this morning, I accidently ripped the blister/all skin off of it. ARGH!!!! I would not suggest doing this.
I have found through personal experience, that if I have to fart, the motion of sitting down on the toliet sucks it all back up. This is frustrating. What is even more frustrating, is that as soon as I stand back up and button my pants, the urge is back and intense. Thus, I am forced to fart in my pants and then fan them out. Wwwwhhhhhhaaaa? Fan them out, you say? Um, yeah. Who knows what could happen after I walk out the bathroom door? An old lady may drop dead in front of me and I would be forced to go to drastic life saving measures, only in my effort to kneel and start pumping her heart back into motion my waistband may crease and poof, there goes my stored fart. With my butt up in the air and a thick fog lumming, I can't quite blame it on the dead lady when the paramedics arrive, now can I?
You know how in the Bible when Jesus would raise folks from the dead and he's always tell someone to get them food immediately afterwards? I kinda wonder if it was because they really were hungry or if it was just because it seemed like a tangible thing to do instead of everybody just staring at the person or asking them a million questions.
I wonder if Jesus had a fat brain. I wonder if he liked ketchup. If he preferred dark chocolate over milk choclate. If he even liked fish, or whether he just ate it because that's all he had. If every morning, manna fell from the sky for him for breakfast. I wonder if we're even concerned about food in heaven. If there is food, I'm assuming since it's heaven, there will be no food allergies, which means that I can chow down again on shellfish. And we can all drink and not get tipsy. And if we run out, we'll just find some water and change it. And all of my Baptist friends will pass out from the shock and my Catholic friends will say, "I told you so."
If He is supposed to forget our sins as far as the East is from the West, then why do people talk about being judged after we die? Because then where does the whole, "welcome, good and faithful servant" come into play? After someone we don't care for does something ignorant, do we say, "well, they'll be judged for that later" and if someone we like does something we think is grand, do we say things like, "Jesus won't forget this. You're written in his book. Some people have even served angels and not known it." Is it really that Jesus won't forget all of the bad and good things that humans have done, or is it more about the fact that we won't?
I'm much more at peace and happy than I used to be. It's not that my problems are solved, but I feel like I'm making progress to some tiny degree. And I really do believe that there is freedom in sharing your pain to a degree.
In the past 3 or 4 years, I've really begun to realize and identify safe people in my life. And I'm to the point now, where I'm okay saying that some people just aren't safe. It's not that they've evil (although at times, it may feel that way), but they're not a person who will help you along in life. Someone who constantly brings you down and/or hurts you, whether physical or emotional or financial, isn't someone to be trusted. Yes, there is forgiveness, and yes, we are supposed to love our enemies, but I don't think loving them neccesarily equals having constant contact with them. They may need time to grow, just as you may need time to heal.
Some things just belong together:
Armpits and deodrant
Joe and Deb
Bourbon and Dt Coke
Okay, I have to go pee and then give my dog a bath. Tell me you're jealous.
ta ta
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